


Entity Catnip

by Urbenmyth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Also hope you like my entity titles!, Borderline whump, Hurt No Comfort, Just a bunch of Bad Endings, Just a stream of terrible things happening to Martin TBH, Nothing partiucarly graphic, Season 5 Spoilers, Turns out being entity catnip is a really bad thing, avatar!martin, just sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urbenmyth/pseuds/Urbenmyth
Summary: It's a joke that all the entities want Martin. That they all vied to become his patron. And they did. In the main story, he avoided falling to any of them. But these are the stories where he didn't.It's a terrible thing for the entities to be fond of you.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Entity Catnip

_It-Knows-You_

“Ok. I...I’m sorry. It’s been…

Jon’s gone. I...Jon’s gone. I can’t bring him back, he’s dead, and it’s my fault. But I can’t change that now. All I can do is…

Christ.

It doesn’t matter. I..If I hadn’t lost him in those tunnels, would I have saved him from Prentiss? I should have thought, I should have noticed he was gone but I didn't. And Tim was too out of it to protect him and...

Prentiss is dead, and Jons dead. Heh. I can hear him now. “ _Martin_! Stop moping over my death and get back to work!” He was..

He’d want me to do his job. My job.

So here...here goes.

Statement of Jennifer Ling, regarding a live musical performance she attended in Soho. Original statement given November 3rd, 2013. Audio recording by Martin Blackwood, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.”

_Too-Close-I-Cannot-Breath_

Martin could no longer remember how long he’d been trapped in his apartment. Weeks? Months? Years? It was hard to tell.

It almost didn’t matter. He’d been trapped all his life. Trapped at work by the lies he told and the work he knew he couldn’t do. Trapped at home by his cold, uncaring mother and the need to love her he couldn’t quite shake. Trapped in his heart by endless feelings for those who cared nothing for him.

It was almost relaxing, to be trapped by something so obvious as walls and doors. Almost comforting to see his bonds so clearly. To be stripped of the illusion he could ever escape.

He’d almost begun to relax. It was almost more...an indulgence. He was trapped, but at least he was no longer tormented by the hope he might ever not be. The knocking stopped a while ago. The door was gone.

Then the hallway. Then the living room.

He sat in his room, no doors or windows. It wasn’t so bad. After a whole life bound by the demands of others, what’s one more prison?

He smiled.

Maybe once it swallowed him, he could finally show his friends his house.

_I-Do-Not-Know-You_

“Hi Sasha. How are you?”. Martin nodded politely. Sasha sat at his desk, and sighed in frustration.

“Yes, I’m OK. I just can’t get the computers to work for me. I bet you don’t have this problem, do you, martin?”

“Oh, you know, I don’t really use computers.” He looked up, to see Sasha looking at him strangely. “Er...you ok, Sasha?”

“...Yes. You _don’t_ use computers, do you? All written down. And...Jon doesn’t notice you much, does he? Overlooks you?”

Martin was increasingly uncomfortable. This was getting very personal- he’d told her about that crush in private. But more...something about ~~this woman~~ Sasha seemed wrong. Very wrong. He had to leave “I...I think I have work to do Sasha. I’ll see you later?”

He stood up, but she blocked the door, grinning. “Yes. But first, could you do a favor? For dear old Sasha?”

\----  
  
Jon looked up as Martin entered the room. Short and thin, the younger man smiled.

“Hi Jon. Just thought I’d check on you. You’ve been working a while”.

Jon sighed. “I’m fine, Martin. Just, let me work.”

Martin turned to leave, before opening his mouth. Jon cut him off sharply.

“No, Martin, I _don’t_ want a coffee. Please just let me get back to recording.”

He sighed, and returned to his work.

 _All-_ _You_ _-_ _Love_ _-Is-Poison_

_Knock knock_

_Knock knock_

Martin cowered in his living room. It had been a week now. And no-one had come to find him. Maybe Jane had killed them when they tried. Or...maybe no-one had noticed he was missing at all.

Honestly, It was probably the latter.

He was so _lonely_. He would die here, and no-one would ever find the corpse. They’d never notice he was gone. They’d probably be glad. Jon would be talking about how he could finally get a competent assistant.

He’d tried so hard to make them love him. To help them. To bring them tea, to talk about their problems, and they never cared back. Never!

He just… he just wanted to be loved. That’s all. Was that so much to ask?

He could hear music faintly through the door, as another knock rang through the house.

Was she loved, on the other side? It was an irrational thought, unprompted and nonsensical, but... _she_ was never alone, was she? She was always surrounded by others. No matter what she did. Always…

He was still thinking this when he realized he’d opened the door. There she stood on the other side. Still in red rags, still a mass of holes and worms. But, he realized for the first time, the most beautiful person he’d ever met. She smiled at him. Cruelly, but still, more then his mother or friends or Jon ever did.

“Are you ready to be consumed by what loves you?” she asked, a buzzing drone that Martin could no longer pretend came from her throat.

He could think of no other answer

“Yes”.

_It-Is-Not-What-It-Is_

Martin ran down the corridors. “Tim? Where are you Tim?”

He’d lost him. Of _course_ he’d fucking lost him. Now how long would he be trapped in this corridor, with its endlessly shifting...

_hello martin_

He couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from. The walls? Some speaker? Behind him? “Who’s there?”

_technically a talent for deception and manipulation_

_i suppose_

“I don’t...who are you?” he spun around, looking for the voice. Could he see something in the mirrors? Or the art? Or behind him?

_And other important benefits of course_

He felt something sharp at his back

_yes_

_you’ll do nicely_

\----

Jon watched in horror as Micheal...opened. There was no other word to describe it. He was pulled apart in a screaming mass of flesh and wood and clay and smiles, and from the mass, a new door stood. It opened and…

It couldn't be.

Taller, thinner, yes. Smiling like he didn’t before. But still clearly recognizable. He grinned as Jon's eyes widened.

“Yes Jon, it’s Martin. I’m here to save you! Now, don’t you want to come inside?”

The door swung wide, and sheer relief meant Jon didn’t think to look at his hands before entering

_I-Did-Not-Want-This_

It was easy at first.

Peter Lukas was a simple person to pull the levers of. Tell him what he wanted to hear, and he believed it.

Others were harder but doable. Once he put his mind to it. Melanie’s rage, Basira’s pride, Daisy’s guilt. Jon’s... He hadn’t wanted to use others. He didn’t. But he had to keep his friends safe.

They were all so...self-destructive. He had to admit that now. Left to their own devices Tim died. Sasha died. Jon nearly died. Daisy nearly worse then died. He wouldn’t let anyone else die.

He had to.

It didn’t take much talking to inspire Melanie to go kill Elias, images of her father be damned. Or to persuade Basira to take Peter out as a “rogue element”.

He had to protect them. As he took more and more control of their lives, he resolved himself to that. Left on their own, they’d self-destruct. He’d seen that. That’s what he’d been saying all along, even if he didn't know it.

Spiders aren’t pleasant. They aren’t kind. But without them, the world dies. It destroys itself.

When the first spider scuttles out of his mouth, that’s what he tells himself. It doesn't matter how unsavory it gets.

He has to do this.

Without him, they’d destroy themselves.

_Who's-Blood-Is-This_

“No”

He hears Elias's mocking sneer and Peter’s childish tantrum. And...something in him snaps. Just like his mother, always uncaring no matter how much he tried. Just like Fairchild, with his preening arrogance. Just like his coworkers and their indifference and their contempt. Just like...had he always been this angry? Had he always heard this bitter, hateful rhythm in his heart?

Yes. Yes, he thinks he has.

He turns to the two rich old men, the two arrogant, privileged shits who thought his life, his _soul,_ was their game piece. And he makes a decision. He doesn’t think a single stab could kill a powerful avatar of the Lonely. He’s not stupid. That’s why he keeps stabbing until there’s nothing left to regrow.

“Well, Martin!” Elias looked down with almost a cruel sense of pride. "I really _did_ underestimate you. The Enemy Of All? It makes sense, I suppose. You always did have a lot of rage under that simpering demeanor, didn’t you? Well, congratulations. Let’s get back to Jon, shall we? You can certainly protect him _now_ , after all”

Martin could stab the corpse. But he wants to do this properly. And unlike Peter, Elias has an obvious weak spot. Martin laughs as his smug grin turns to shock, and before he can give any terrible revelation to protect himself, Martin has torn his eyes clean from their sockets.

He stands over the corpse. If he destroys it, will it wipe out the institute? He thinks back to every dismissal, every cruel word, every time he was snapped at and ignored and mocked for simply offering them a cup of _tea._ They play over and over, like a song he can't get out of his head, before he raises the knife.

If it doesn't kill them, he’ll do it himself.

_This-Is-All-I-Am_

“Are you sure you’re OK with me doing this?” Martin said to the grinning woman. Her smile widens.

“Oh, of course I am! I want to _help_ you. And besides, it’s hilarious!”. Helen laughed as the door opened. And he walked inside. God, he didn’t miss these corridors. But he was sure he'd have more to deal with soon.

5 right turns- just enough to make him worried Helen had betrayed him and left him to suffer in the hallways forever- before he saw the Boneturner. He was huge, all arms and mouths, and he looked down at him with hungry eyes.

“Eh? What’re you doing here?”

“I want to make a bargain. For your freedom.”

The thing before him laughed, too many mouths chuckling with razor sharp teeth. “Is that so? Whatd'ya want? Something taken out, or something put in?”

“I want... put in. My friends are dying. I was offered the chance to help them, and I turned it down. And I won’t do it again. Make me something strong. Something that can protect them.”

“And you’ll let me free?”

“Yes. Can you do that?”

The Boneturner grinned, his head twisting into a giant maw. He reached over, _around_ Martin, _into_ Martin. He screamed as the pain began, muscles and bone twisting into something else.

“Don't you worry, little man”

He couldn’t scream any more. He didn’t understand his new body enough to figure out how.

“I can certainly do _that_ ”

_It’s-Right-Behind-You_

It remembers, sometimes.

It remembers a handsome man, cold but secretly loving. A kind young woman, who looks different every time it remembers. A funny man who stopped being funny. A police officer, and an angry woman in bright colors and...someone like it?

It doesn’t remember these people often. Only occasional glimpses, flickers. They don’t matter. Not anymore.

It remembers its kills clearly. The unblinking man with bright eyes and a sharp smile. The distant man, always muted, always surrounded by mist. The laughing old man, high in the air. The sharp woman in her hallway, the girl with webbing for hair, the flickering wax things that walked like people. They all looked shocked when it tore out their throats. It remembers that clearly.

It did it for a reason. It knows that. It doesn’t know what that reason was. The people it sometimes remembers, maybe? Were they important?

To protect…

The memory blurs, and it shakes it head. It looks at its latest prey. A thing of the eye, a dreamwalker that steals stories.

Does it...know him? Does it…

It doesn’t matter. He’s just prey.

And it bears its teeth to strike.

_I-Am-Always-Dying_

The doctor shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

Jon is pronounced dead shortly after a visit from a mysterious stranger. No sign of foul play but then, if there was, it wouldn’t be the kind that showed up.

That's the irony. Martin had wanted to die, but he hadn’t.

Tim and Daisy had died. His mother had died. Jon had died. Melanie died when the Dark’s minions attacked. Basira when the Vast. Peter when the Slaughter.

Soon he is alone. Really alone, not simply cut off and overlooked. Even his enemies are gone. Elias had simply...stopped, after something attacked through the tunnels. He should feel joy, he supposes. He hates Elias. But it doesn't feel like a triumph.

It feels like he is simply the last man standing. Everything else is gone, and he is just waiting to stop moving.

He can see the death around him when the man sits next to him. Dark skinned. Handsome, he supposed, if he was alive enough to care. And… he realizes.

“You killed Jon."

The man shrugs. “I suppose I did. Yes. Do you want revenge?”

“I...no. There’s no point. You’ll die anyway. Everyone else did.”

The man doesn’t smile, but he gives an expression of...not pride. Not triumph. Of simple recognition.

“I think we have a lot to talk about then, Martin.”

Martin shrugs. Why not?

It won’t change anything, in the end.

_It-Won’t-Stop-Going_

Simon Fairchild lent back on the chair opposite Martin, smiling wryly. He looked at him curiously.

“You know, now I think about it, Martin? You’re a very _Vast_ kind of Lonely, aren’t you?”

Martin glared. “What does that mean?”

“You’re the Lonely who is alone in a _crowd_. Who walks the streets of a city, unseen and unnoticed. Just one more faceless thing in the background. And that’s...yes. Yes, the Vastness of a civilization, of an uncaring society. That’s certainly doable. Certainly worth a try, at least!”

It took a minute for it to sink in.

“I’m sorry. Are you... offering me a _job_?”

The old man grinned brightly.

“Well, why not? I don’t care about whatever scheme Peter has, and you can’t tell me you _do._ No, you just want a patron to help you protect your friends. And I like you, Martin!”

“You threatened to kill me!”

“If I hadn’t liked you, I would have! No, there's a touch of the Vast in you, my boy. I could try and tease it out. You’d have a patron, and I promise it’d be more enjoyable then sitting in a cold room crying alone.”

Martin thought for a minute. He didn’t _trust_ Simon, obviously. But then, he didn’t trust Peter. And Simon didn’t seem the type to have schemes. He was more of a chaotic monster. He wouldn’t use him as a pawn in some game, at least.

“Suppose I said yes. And I’m not saying yes!”

“Oh, of course not.”  
  
“But if I _did_ say yes, how would it work?”

Simon jumped up, spry as a man in his 20s despite his withered form, and opened the door to the archives. On the other side, a gaping abyss stretched out.

“Just jump! If there’s enough to resonate with the Vastness Of Crowds And Cities, you’ll be one of us! Martin Fairchild, with our whole family to protect you! And your friends, if you still care afterwards. We all have our affectations, after all.”

“And if there isn’t? Enough of the Vast, that is.”

Simon shrugged. “Well, you’ll slam into the ground at terminal velocity and die. I don’t know what more you expect. You can risk it, or you can sit here and sink into the fog. The choice is yours, dear boy!”

Simon looked at the edge. He remembered how small he always felt, how insignificant before things bigger and better.

He’d always been tiny, at the mercy of looming forces. Fuck it.

He looked at Simon, and nodded, as the old man beamed at him.

And he jumped.

_Please-You’re-Hurting-Me_

Martin smiled as he burnt the files. They went up so easily, but more than that…

He’d never heard Elias actually _scared_. Not when Melanie went at him with a knife, or when a worm monster attacked the building, or when he heard an evil circus was plotting to destroy the world. But now, he was scared. Did burning the statements...hurt him? It would make sense, wouldn’t it? If this was his archive.

It felt powerful. Martin had never felt _powerful_ before, and as much as he tried to fight against it, it was there.

And then his mother, and the tears, and the pain, and Elias's smug, hissing voice. “Don’t burn any more statements.” And Melanie, swaying to some unheard song, saying they needed to kill him. And she was right. Fuck the plan. He knew how to hurt Elias, like he hurt them. Elias hadn't bothered to take the lighter away from him.

When the archives went up, he heard Elias scream. Melanie had sabotaged the fire systems, and he heard Elias scream. And threaten. And finally, pounding helplessly on the door, beg. The grand eldritch mastermind, the immortal all-seeing monster, begging _Martin Blackwood_ to let him live. And there was no guilt. After all, he deserved _all_ of it.

He looked at the flames rising into the sky. He knew there were other people, who deserved to suffer for what they did. He’d read all the names. Lukus, Fairchild, Perry, Hopworth, Cane. He could hurt them. It felt right. It felt righteous.

It felt, at long last, powerful.

_Who’s-There-I-Cannot-See_

No-one noticed Martin.

Not Jon, not Tim, not Sasha. No-one. Not his mum. His dad didn’t stay around long enough to even try.

At his new workplace, he faded back into the shadows. He had a crush, and he never noticed him. He had friends, but they didn’t notice him. He was scared of his lies being caught first, but that soon faded. Who would ever look at him long enough to notice any discrepancies

It was then the lights started to flicker. That he’d find himself stood in the shadows literally, even when it didn’t make sense. That he'd look out the window at noon, and see London bathed in night.

Things began to break down. He walked, never seen, never noticed, and warped tape recorders appeared, too garbled to record. He saw Jon smiling, glad he was _finally_ getting his laptop to record statements. He saw Elias, afraid and confused, looking to see what was wrong. He didn’t look at Martin, the unseen and unseeable poisoning the temple of Beholding.

He manipulates and searches and Knows, but he never sees the problem. How can he?

Martin is always unnoticed. Just a smiling shadow. The Eye can't see into Darkness.

And now he watches Jon, unseen in the darkness. Perhaps he’ll be noticed at last, after this.

Or perhaps even _this_ will fade into the Dark, unseen and unnoticed.

Just like everything else about Martin Blackwood.

_The-World-Is-Always-Ending_

Martin looked up at the massive Eye, watching down at him. The end of the world.

Except it wasn’t the end of the world, not really. People weren’t dying. They’d never die again. Not until they reached the Panopticon and...

Oh, who was he kidding?

This wasn’t a fairy tale. The also-him had been right. It had been a fantasy. The two of them? They couldn’t fight 14 _gods_. This was a nightmare, not a dream, and they couldn’t…

Wait.

 _15_ gods. There were fifteen.

That domain. The...Anthropocene Era, with the couch. The Extinction was real, after all. He...he remembered at the corpse roots. Jon had mentioned that he'd learnt the world would eventually die. After thousands of years, a slow withering death, but it could end. If he wanted something _instant_ , a burst of radioactive fire and then nothing…

Peter had talked about how it would wipe out humanity. And was that a bad thing now? He couldn’t turn the world back. He'd finally admitted that. But he could end everyone’s suffering. It wasn’t the ending he wanted. But it was better than any others, at least.

He was sure he could _find_ it. Journeys were intentions, right? If he had a goal, he could go there.

He left quickly, before he could reunite with Jon. He could find Martin, of course. But he didn’t. Maybe he chose not to, respected his choices. Or maybe…

It doesn’t matter now. He’d made his choice.

Martin walked through the wasteland and, far away, he could hear the beeping of Geiger counters, calling him home.

_Come-Back-Don’t-Leave-Me_

“Look at me. Look at me and tell you what you see.”

Martin looked and saw Jon. Jon. Another person who ignored him, who overlooked him. Who wouldn’t love him.

He shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He didn't look back as he vanished into the fog.


End file.
